


Drabbles - Spike

by lycomingst



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycomingst/pseuds/lycomingst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of unrelated drabbles featuring Spike. Most were written for the "Open on Sunday" LJ community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabbles - Spike

** Spike**

You'd think it'd be the screams I remember.

You know, now that I'm all souled up and having quiet moments of reflection, you'd think what I'd have haunting my memory would be the crying, the begging. Yeah, lots of killings, lots of last moments to throw at me, to make me squirm.

But I dealt with those voices. In my way. I'm not a dwelling kind of guy.

Not saying I don't have something that gets to me. When the dreams come, it's about that sound. As they die, as they surrender.

It's just a quiet sigh. That last breath.

 

**Long Before Sunnydale**

Spike strode along the dark country road.

This new idea had taken some planning on his part. There was the searching for the right person, the stalking until he could be safely taken, the wait until the demon awoke in him. Impetuous Spike chafed at the delay, but now it was over.

His brand new minion was coming and bringing something Spike wanted.

And seeing it approach on the path, Spike waved in impatient command.

Then he heard the klaxon, blaring and announcing the arrival of a new age.

This was it. Tonight Spike would learn to drive an automobile.

**Sunnydale**

Sunnydale saw so much to and froing from him.

There'd been entrances of his that had destructive flair. The town's welcome went down in wanton, ego-gratifying triumph and next time, maybe in drunken miscalculation. There'd been times he'd slunk into town, with a plan or for some place to be.

His leavings, again, were mixed. Timely escapes or premeditated departures or seeking what couldn't be had. Times when he wanted to go but couldn't.

His last exit, though, with a lion-colored nimbus surrounding him would have been talked in this place for years. Had not the town left with him.

**Poetry**

"Read to me, dear"

William looked at his mother sitting with him in the quiet parlor and said, "What would you like, some Browning, now that April is here?"

"Yes, lovely. ...Only, wasn't there something scandalous about Browning?"

"He and his wife eloped, to Italy, because her family disapproved. Not that scandalous, mother. Just romantic; they were poets, after all"

"Yes, still, their poor families. Such turmoil. An unwise match could ruin a man." She looked at her son, shyly. "William, seeing you in a misalliance would break my heart."

William smiled, "Don't worry, Mother, your heart's safe with me."

**Fool's Paradise**

First, there's the sneaking away together. Then hungry mouths and it's fast and rough, and then, if there's time, it's slow and teasing. Hands stroking, tongues tasting, probing, exploring.

Then sated, there's remorse and repudiation and resolve.

She's made a mistake. It has to stop. It's wrong. He's wrong. She's sorry.

He walks her out of the crypt and halfway home. There's never a kiss goodbye.

Maybe, even though vampires don't have souls, they have a subconscious. Why else then would this one with long memory for old tunes be walking away humming, unintentionally, _I'm a Fool to Love You_?

**Payback**

Xander made it clear they were staying in after work. No bars, no dancing, no fighting.

Spike mumbled "ok" from the blankets' depth.

Later, Xander insisted they eat out. Then play pool. He seemed jumpy.

"Let's go home," said Spike.

"Not yet. Soon."

"Now. Or tell me what's going on."

Xander hemmed, hawed. "Tonight's movie on TV...it's "Dracula". You always make me watch it. Then tell me sixteen times he owes you eleven bucks."

"Quid."

"Whatever. I'll give you a hundred dollars if you never tell that story again."

He took the cash, but Spike kept on telling the story.

**Ghost**

It took some getting used to. That there were no material barriers for him. Or he could—he guessed it was—think of a place, and he'd be there. As long as it was in W&amp;H.

He hated not feeling anything. Hated worse not being felt.

Pavayne taught him concentration. Focusing, he could brush Fred's arm. Hide Wes' glasses. Move Angel's breakfast blood to where the big lug would knock it over.

He became fixated on his boots, on taking them off. He wanted to walk barefoot across Angel's thick rugs. And if he concentrated enough, maybe he'd feel something.

**This is the End, My Friend**

When Illyria exploded, people the next state over saw what they thought was lightning in the west. The death of Los Angeles carried on sound waves that traveled like thunder across the blue Mexican sky.

Angel and Spike found themselves on another plane of existence. Spike said, "Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into. That was my worst death, ever. That wasn't even an apocalypse; it was more like a bloody accident."

"I tried to stop her. Like you were any help. And where are we? Heaven? Hell?"

They eyed each other. It was hard to tell.

 

**Halloween**

"We're not supposed to be out tonight, Spike"

" No, sweet, we're not, but it's such a boring little town, it's driving me mad.. I've had my eye on the perfect family and tonight we won't be conspicuous making a call on them."

"Sounds luscious."

"Yes, Dru, it will be trick and treat".

They approached the door of a elaborately decorated door and knocked.

A woman answered. "Oh, my. Still trick-or-treating? Your costumes are so elaborate and ..very scary." She smiled. "My boys are already in, they have to see this."

"Please, come in. Ward, Wally, Beaver, look at this."

**Heartsick**

He'd sit on the roof outside her window sometimes. Not while she and Riley were going at it. That would be …well, not something he'd want to see. Afterwards, while they slept, he'd watch them.

Riley would be dead to the world. He even slept at attention, all straight and controlled. Buffy would begin to toss and sometimes flail her arms. Spike liked to think she'd sensed his presence. Slayer and vampire were attached, more deeply than her human ties. He wondered if he walked through her dreams.

In the morning, Buffy would awake and groggily think she smelled smoke.

**Quiet Night**

Torrential rain canceled patrol. The two of them sprawled on the couch, watching an old black and white movie on television.

"It's weird that we're watching this and all these actors are almost certainly dead," Xander said.

Spike shifted slightly "Not all of 'em. See that guy in the back? Met him at a party once. Liked him, bit him, sired him. Mistake, really"

Xander looked expectantly at him.

"He liked being young forever, but hated getting mussed biting people. Hours of grooming afterwards to readjust himself.," Spike snorted, "Drama queen vampires.

Think he's a croupier in Monte Carlo now"

**Memory**

He doesn't sweat. His body is always cool. But their passion warms her blood, and moisture covers her skin. When they lay exhausted, she panting, he watches her body. It dissipates the heat it has built up. Drops of water come from among the golden threads of hair and slide down the side of her face. Her skin gleams. His tongue reaches out to taste it, salty and soft. Hot and damp. Her taste.

He brushes his hand down her length. It's important to capture the memory of her warmth so he can have her when he's cold and alone.

 

**Silver**

A silver dollar. Rolled between his fingers over and over again. He'd gotten the trick from that dead-eyed little American actor.

Spike and Dru liking change, came to Hollywood in the thirties. Found it full of well-fed, disposable people. Who missed a starlet or two? Too bad about all the sunlight, though.

Spike thought of biting Lugosi. To put paid to that make-believe vamp. Annoying, it was. The swirling cape, the prancing about.

But he thought better of it. If the public had that picture to scare themselves with, they'd miss the man flipping pocket change coming up behind them.

**Up and Away**

Cool, earth-scented air. Harvest moon lighting an almost empty field. A man waits beside a revving-up bi-winged plane.

Here she comes. His mad little aviatrix. Hair tucked under a leather cap; jodhpurs tucked into boots.

"Come with me, Spike," she coos, "I'll sit on your lap and we'll rearrange the stars together."

"No, love. I'll stay on the ground. Keep the lanterns lit so you could land."

He straps her in, securely. He yells over the engine noise. "No wing walking to touch the moon. No free falling. And most of all, sweet" he gestures toward the pilot, "no biting."

 

**Dress Up**

There's nothing a vamp likes more than a war. Spike, back in America, was disgruntled at the lack of bombing raids but there were blackouts and graveyard shift workers and there was Dru.

One night she made him cover his eyes while she changed clothes. "Look now!" she said. She twirled round and round in her WAVE uniform.

"Dru, very pretty, but I thought we agreed no eating the military. Too many people look for them. Stick to the civilians and 4Fs."

Dru's lower lip extended.

"Don't pout, little sailor," Spike said, "c'me here and I give you some orders."

 

**Spike**

Spike, as vampire, had relationships. He had sires, lovers, minions, employees, enemies, mates. All demons.

Falling in love with the Slayer, his reality kaleidoscoped . He worked with her friends, protected her sister. Had Watcher-Vampire détente.

Now he was souled. In the midst of them. They were wary, as they should be. That was smart. They saw him as a useful set of skills they might need.

Except one.

This boy, Andrew, who smiled when Spike entered the room, whose ramblings, instead of sending Spike round the bend, amused him. It was something he never looked for, a human friend.

**Back in Town**

He came back and went right to the Slayer's house; he was a friend of the family.

Joyce wasn't surprised; she smiled welcome.

There was vengeance in his heart. It would serve the Slayer right to find death had paid a visit and left a broken, drained token for her.

But looking at Joyce Spike thought he might just bed her, seek comfort against her warm, soft skin during the long night. That would send the Slayer round the bend.

Instead Joyce made tea; they talked about South American art and she told him Buffy was living on campus now.

**Change**

He was in his crypt and trying to be very drunk, watching TV tuned to PBS attempts to gouge baby-boomers with a Beatles showcase.

Last year he was talking to that patchwork cyborg, Adam, about Helter Skelter, he recalled. And Spike remembered expounding on Yoko...something about Yoko.

Right, about her not breaking up the group. Because a woman couldn't tear a man away from everything he's known, could she? Make him want to be something different. To be with her, he wouldn't change his nature, right? No man could do that.

He found himself humming, "Here Comes the Sun".

**In the Rain**

He sees that his hand, held out in the pale dawn light, smokes, smolders. Knows that he no longer a creature of the day.

He can travel about, however, when clouds cover the sky and rain fills the gutters. But he can no longer see the rainbows.

Soon, humans with their busy hands change that. Their machines fill the streets, shedding oil and grease in all directions, trundling back and forth.

Now when it rains at night, he smiles to see the iridescent colors shine in the dark water.

Something like a rainbow, as he is something like a man.

**Travelin' Man**

He is going to North America. The roads are rough and lonely but when he stops to rest, the bandits don't bother him anymore. They know "the devil's car".

He's reckless and takes a route along the gulf in Mexico. Taunting the sun to catch him unawares. Reckless and drunk. He considers stuffing messages into the empty bottles, throwing them into the sea. Let them drift back to Dru. _I'm lost, baby. What happened to us?_ But she's already gotten messages that tell her he's a different man.

He blames Angelus; things are usually his fault. Or maybe the Slayer.

**Full Circle**

Palm against palm he clapped, to get her attention. _Look at me, Slayer, as I saunter into your life. Won't last much longer, your life. Shame, that._

That was the plan. But things happened. Events took place. Finding himself on the same Hellmouth as the Slayer, he should have ended her. Took his due bragging rights.

Instead, she took him. On a journey where his next step was always a surprise to him. One foot in front of the other and he ends up with a soul.

Palm against palm, that's how they parted. Maybe it was a love story.

 

**Problem**

She was about six years old and crying.

"No, no, no, no."

"No what, baby? What's the matter?" He father delved into her pink pillow case of swag. "Look, you got some of the little Mars Bars you like. Princesses don't cry." He was desperate.

"Don't want to be a Princess. Want to be scary. Like him." She pointed to a man in an excellent vampire mask.

It was Spike's secret indulgence since that first time in Sunnydale. He'd tell himself he was just going for cigarettes, but then he'd walk about on Halloween, all vamped out. Because he could.

**Reunion**

Amanda answered the door to find Spike there.

"I've got your baby." He held a bundle out to her.

"What...no. What?" Her arms stayed out her sides.

"I brought your baby back." Spike used his patient voice.

"But the Fell Brethren. I gave him up. They fixed my husband. He's back to normal."

"The Brethren aren't in any position to look after kids now. They won't be coming after you. Anyway, baby's back. I sang to him on the way over. He like Elvis Costello. Gotta go. Apocalypse coming."

Mother and son were staring at each other as Spike left.

 

**Scouting**

Fred bustled in, loaded with boxes. She heaped them on the table and looked around. "I bought cookies. Who'd think a demon have a daughter in the Girl Scouts?"

"Hey, good. Thin Mints over here," said Gunn, gesturing.

"Trust Americans to combine money-making and child rearing...oh, is that shortcake? I'll have one with my tea," Wes said.

"Spike?" Fred said to the figure stretched on the couch. "Want a Girl Scout cookie? They're crunchy."

A sleepy voice said, "I like 'em. Tasty."

Gunn snorted, "You like Girl Scout cookies?"

"Cookies?" In a puzzled voice Spike said, "Girl Scouts make cookies?"

**Technology**

"But you're arguing as a vampire"

"Yes, 'cause I am. But it affected the whole world, humans and then, vampires."

Xander raised his eyebrows in skepticism and considered it as he shifted his weight on the couch, looking for any Necco wafers that could have escaped.  
He said, "More than the automobiles?"

"Cars were the beginning, I give you that. But," Spike picked up the  
device at his side and aimed it at the television, "the remote changed civilization. People are fatter, slower, lazier. Easier to catch, and more of a meal when you get them. Golden age for vampires."

**The Coolest**

In a dark, smoky room, a man takes the stage, his beret tilted, his goatee indignant.

The music is low saxophones, wailing the futility of life. He speaks.

"Chill  
Inside and out  
Cold, cruel world  
(_finger snap, finger snap_)  
Frigidaires, man, we all got iceboxes  
To put our apple a day, our milk-and-honey, our souls  
In"  
(_finger snap, finger snap_)

He nods to the crowd.

Later, the poet walks the desolate street in an uncaring city, he said to his new friend, "Can you dig it, man?"

"I get what you're saying, mate," said Spike. And then he ate him.

**The Nature of Love**

His mother - wasn't it because of love he ended her suffering? It couldn't be that he felt lost without her in his new world. Could it?

Drusilla - He loved her. It wasn't because he was used to being leaned upon, unused to being alone, so her slipping into that old familiar spot comforted him. It was love, wasn't it?

Buffy - That was love. It wasn't him trying to prove his strength, his power over her by having her walk beside him in his dark world, was it?

He doesn't know the answers to any of these questions.

**Treat**

My princess was given a treat by her sire. Red and juicy with the warm scent of the shopgirl it was taken from still clinging to it.

More than to please her, it was given to spite me, Show me up. It bothers him that I was never the wide-eyed acolyte, hanging on his every word. Never gave proper respect, he used to say, trying to beat into me. But that's the point of being a demon, innit? No god to worship.

I've planned a surprise treat for him now. A trip to Hell. Can't wait to see his face.

 

**Vile Bodies**

When the Bright Young Things wanted a 'bit of rough', Spike was there. Real working men rose too early and had exhausting jobs; they had no energy to entertain London socialites with too much money and no sense. But Spike knew how to give them a thrill. He'd drop his h's and fuck them. Take their jewelry and fuck them. They thought him "the cat's whiskers". So deliciously bad.

And if some of them never came back? Could've gone on holiday. Perhaps they drifted over to the Continent to meet that handsome little man who was setting Germany to rights.

**Question**

"Who do you want me to be?" he asks the drunken girl. Because that's what he is, their fantasy. He can be what they don't even admit to wanting. He whispers in their ears and watches as the light begins to glow deep in their eyes. They can call him what they like.

Not that he would put it this way, but he understands about secret selves. Isn't he everything the weak-limbed, passive boy he was ever dreamed of being?

But he'll surely tell The Slayer his name before he kills her; it's her name that was unimportant to him.

_For "open_on_sunday". Prompt was "Mirror"_

**Mirror**

Dead, his life was filled with new experiences.

How startling to look into a mirror and not be there. The first time it happened he whipped his head around, seeking himself in a place other than where he was standing. He stretched out his arm and grabbed the glass, to foolishly look behind it.

He thought: how will I know I'm properly dressed? How shall I tie my cravat?

Behind him Angelus laughed mockingly.

Later he saw he was reflected in his Drusilla's, his beloved's, eyes. And he saw himself and terror in his victims' eyes. It was compensation enough.


End file.
